The forward violet thus did I chide: <br />"Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that smells, <br />If not from my love's breath? The purple pride <br />Which on thy soft check for complexion dwells <br />In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed." <br />The lily I condemnèd for thy hand, <br />And buds of marjoram had stol'n thy hair; <br />The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, <br />One blushing shame, another white despair; <br />A third, nor red, nor white, had stol'n of both, <br />And to his robbery had annexed thy breath, <br />But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth <br />A vengeful canker eat him up to death. <br /> More flowers I noted, yet I none could see, <br /> But sweet or colour it had stol'n from thee.<br /><br />William Shakespeare<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sonnet-99-the-forward-violet-thus-did-i-chide/
